Until We Say I Do
by Leila Winters
Summary: She's a romantic. He's headstrong. She keeps orchestrating elaborate propose-to-me scenarios and he just keeps pretending he doesn't know it's what she really wants.
1. Prologue

**Until We Say I Do**

**Prologue**

by Leila Winters

* * *

Rachel Berry was a romantic at heart.

She'd spent her entire childhood, her teenage years, and the early part of her adult life envisioning love as being swept off your feet and walking on clouds of cotton candy.

She knew now it was more like swimming in a river. Sometimes you went with the flow, sometimes you swam upstream, sometimes you were in over your head, sometimes the surface froze over while the current still rushed by in a blur underneath, sometimes it went too fast or at a slow crawl, and sometimes it grew tumultuous with churning waters that crashed dangerously against deadly rocks.

She decided she rather liked that extended metaphor and would find ways to incorporate a lazy dock, leeches, and free-falling off an unfathomable drop into the lovely, poetic discourse of her love.

She was a thoroughly modern woman, she told herself. She was take-charge in her relationships and was her partner's equal in _**most**_ matters (she was well aware she would never be able to bench press 250 lbs or down four beers in a night without throwing up, but would he ever be able to name 50 musicals in alphabetical order with their composers and lyricists in under three minutes? Let's not get delusional here).

So the reason she found herself dropping hints that she wanted to get married instead of just talking about it frustrated her. Couldn't a thoroughly modern woman just want her man to be filled with **UNCONTAINED INFATUATION** and propose in a thoroughly romantic fashion to the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

She thought so. And she was going to make it happen.

-.-

Here's the thing:

Noah Puckerman does what he wants to do. It's not that he doesn't want to spend the next sixty years kissing that funny nose of hers. Or fall asleep listening to her incessant yammering. Or eat the delicious pastries she bakes when her spirits are soaring on the wings of good fortune (her words, not his). Or get deep-throated when he's been an especially good boy.

(No, really. That last one is _**awesome**_ and he even says a little _modeh ani _prayer the next morning as a way to give back to the good lord who blessed his girlfriend with no gag reflex. Which actually might be sacrilegious, but the way he figures it, god made sex awesome and made him awesome _at it_ and made _them_ mind-blowingly awesome _together_, so it's not a crime to be thankful for being able to use what the good lord gave you, right?)

What he doesn't like is _**having to be told **_in so many ways to propose, when if he did, it would look like it wasn't his idea in the first place.

So she just keeps orchestrating elaborate propose-to-me scenarios and he just keeps pretending he doesn't know it's what she really wants.

**

* * *

**

**NOTES: ** This is a drabble crack fic. I really shouldn't be taking on new writing projects considering I'm behind on my **_Gleephoria_** blog...but I have to go where my creative energies take me.

In my perfect world, there are three different parallel universes and Rachel Berry is happily tucked away in Puckleberry, St. Berry, and OtherBerry (Mike Chang! XD) ships in each one. The fourth universe, she gets to be trapped in gigantic, confusing polygons of love. The dimension this fic takes place in happens to be starring Puck. I'm not actually sure he's happy about that.

**Disclaimer_: _** If I owned anything resembling rights to **_Glee_**, I'd find some way to ruin it. Let the chaos begin.

Timeline jumps, but should all take place within the same year or so.


	2. By the Soft Glow of Candlelight

**NOTES:**Oh god, those of you who have alerted this fic, I've been so distracted rooting through your "favorites," it's ridiculous. It's amazing how much I miss on my own.

_**Until We Say I Do**_

"_By the Soft Glow of Candlelight"_

By Leila Winters

-.-

He comes home from work to their quaint little apartment and knows something's the fuck up. He knew it the second he stepped inside and it was dark and the smell of burning lavender-scented candles wafted gently over to him.

Why does his life suck so much?

Suppressing a groan, he places his keys on the entry table, hangs up his jacket, and slips his shoes off as quietly as possible. He doesn't want to wake the beast.

It's not that he truly believes he'll be able to slip by unnoticed and pretend to be sleeping before she spots him, but not trying feels a lot like telling a crazy homeless man to "go ahead and shoot"...you just didn't.

He tries not to jump when her silhouette magically appears in the entryway to the kitchen and the hall. She is tiny and terrifying with a large wooden spoon in one hand and a vintage black dress with ruffles drifting down to stop above her knee. He can't see it, but he can feel the wide, calculating grin spreading across her face.

He feels a lot like Hansel who wandered where he shouldn't have and is about to be made into a pot pie. Shepherd's pie.

Wow. He'd never thought of it like that.

"You're home early. I wasn't expecting you yet." He thinks he detects a hint of panic in her voice.

He rubs at the back of his head. "Uh, yeah...there weren't too many orders to fill, so I finished up early." He's walking toward her, slowly, and the whites of her eyes suddenly pop out in the darkness like headlights and he's a deer trapped in them, with nowhere to go but head-on. So he kisses her and asks what smells so good (besides her).

The giant wooden spoon is like an annoying cousin, wedging itself between them while she holds it to keep him at bay.

"My own special recipe," she declares proudly with an approving nod at him. "It's pasta with artichoke and sun-dried tomatoes and a little white wine." She's curled her hair and it's all shimmery and perfect looking. They'll have the hottest looking kids in Ohio. "Why don't you shower and get changed for dinner? I still have to let the New England clam chowder simmer a bit. I've laid out clothes on the bed for you."

Of course.

He does as he's told. It's just easier that way.

He's never seen the shirt before. It's new. He feels like Antonio Banderas n' shit as he buttons the soft, loose material with slightly billowy sleeves. He wonders if he's expected to leave a generous expanse of skin showing at the chest.

He decides there's only so far you can play into someone else's game. He only leaves the top two undone.

He takes a few deep breaths before braving the she-demon that was once his girlfriend.

When he walks into the combined kitchen and dining area, he doesn't know how she does it, but she knew he was coming. She's _waiting _behind the table, the places set with their first course, the soup with a bit of basil sprinkled on top and a perfectly sliced piece of toasted, buttered French bread on a little plate to the side. Her face is softly lit with the glow of the tall, elegant tapers nestled in polished gold candlesticks, one for each place setting. Actually, the entire room is aglow with strategically placed candles flickering eerily in the still air. The soft strain of violins fill in the gaps between conversation.

A flute of sparkling champagne is in her perfectly manicured hands.

She's changed the tablecloth. He's positive it's shimmering gold with embossed stars and really, it wouldn't be the first time she's tried the candlelit dinner trick, but it _would _be the first time she's sprinkled rose petals over the table surface and somehow managed to form a heart with crumbled crackers haloing the basil at the center of their bowls.

"Wow." Her insanity should cease surprising him by now. "Ten for presentation, babe."

Her smile is blinding.

"What's the occasion?" he asks. Not that he needs to. Not that he _**EVER**_ needs to. The woman has a one-track mind and after the first time or the first fifteen times, he's pretty much got her figured out.

She shrugs (completely unconvincingly) and tells him nonchalantly, "Nothing. I just wanted to stretch my culinary wings. No reason not to be fully committed."

He doesn't say anything. Because what do you say to that?

He pulls her chair out for her and kisses her by her ear when she sits down. They play the how-was-your-day game (and _damn_, he loves that she can _cook_) and by the time they're finishing up the pasta, he can tell she's a little tipsy.

At this point, he knows it can go two ways. She'll either be extremely easy to divert from her seemingly relentless plan, or she'll be more determined and more emotional than ever about it when he fails to produce a ring.

He's complimenting her on the most romantic dinner he's ever had and she's basking in his praise and looking at him with such hope and expectation, he knows he's going to feel like the biggest jackass in exactly two seconds.

"Well, time to hit the books," he pecks her quickly on the lips and gets up to go. He's almost to the hall when she recovers.

"Wait!"

He can't not notice the warble to her voice.

She's standing now, too, and looking like that stupid fuzzy alien thing screaming "I'm lost!" in the woods. "That's it?" she whimpers.

Damn her adorableness.

"I can help clean up if you want."

The sound her foot makes when she stomps it on the kitchen floor is too cute. "_NOAH!_"

She's all gathered up in his arms and he's making little soothing "oooh" sounds into her hair and telling her he's sorry. When she's done pouting, he waits for just the right moment to spring the question:

"You wanna have sex or something?"

She shoves away from him, a scowl on her pretty little face. "I don't know why I bother with you! You're _hopeless_!"

She storms past him and slams her bedroom door shut. It's times like these he's glad they actually have their own bedrooms. A little personal space does a person good.

He puts the dishes in the sink, turns the music off, and blows out all the candles before heading to his room to strip down to his boxers. He knows he's going to blow off studying, but he's pretty sure he'll be able to wiki the shit he needs to know and fake his way through class tomorrow anyway.

She yells something about not speaking to him until their stars get uncrossed and would he kindly leave her to wallow in her own anguish when he knocks quietly.

He rolls his eyes and opens the door.

Her dress is in a heap on the floor and he knows she's going to cry about it tomorrow, so he picks it up and lays it over the back of her chair. She's face-down, under the covers of her bed, which is generously scattered with red and white rose petals. There's a candle burning on her nightstand.

Sliding in next to her, he traces circles on the skin of the small of her back. They're both in their underwear. He likes those odds.

"Hey..." he whispers against the shell of her ear.

She doesn't answer.

"I'm not sure what I did to upset you..." (yeah, he is _SO_ going to burn for that one) "...but I know it's my fault. You know I'm kind of an idiot. If you're not telling me what's going on, I won't take the hint. Aren't you always saying communication is like WD-40 or something?"

When she turns her face toward him, she's smiling. "It keeps the relationship running smoothly."

He kisses her funny Jewish nose. "Right. And you know what else keeps a relationship running smoothly?" He slides a finger down the cleft of her tight little ass over the cotton of her panties. "Lube. Lots of lube."

She bursts out laughing even though he knows she doesn't want to.

"Worst boyfriend ever."

Oh, he's _in_.

"Probably. But you know I love you."

And just like that, he's _really_ in and he knows he's gonna want to say a prayer in the morning because _jesus_. Well, not like _Jesus_, because you know, but whatever.

His life will be complete if he can manage to get her to stop her crazy girl scheming because he's pretty sure the ring he's had hidden in his guitar case for the past few months is going to like, rust, or some shit if he just leaves it there.

But he knows that's kind of a fool's errand because he knows Rachel Berry.

And Rachel Berry is no quitter.


	3. A Gift of Intention

**Until We Say I Do**

"_A Gift of Intention"_

by Leila Winters

* * *

She is absolutely brimming with excitement when she comes home from class that afternoon. Neither of them have work. It is the perfect setup.

The man of her waking dreams is sitting on the couch plucking away at his old, beat up guitar. He stops when she brisks into the room.

Her heart flutters, a young nightingale twittering excitedly in its cage. "Writing a song for me?" she can't help asking.

He cocks his head to the side in that dreamy way of his and pauses dramatically (for maximum effect) before replying with a flippant, "nope."

She tries not to look disappointed. Really, she does. It's just **SO HARD **when Noah seems to make every effort (or, she supposes _LACK_ of effort) to misunderstand a young ingenue's heart. Isn't he ever driven by an unexplainable and relentless **BURNING NEED** to make a heart-felt confession of his _undying affections _in a passionate, acoustic song, composed and lyricized by himself about _her_?

Where's HER _"_Layla"?

Obviously, she is the party more greatly invested in this relationship.

But she can't think about that right now.

"Noah darling..."

She doesn't imagine his sigh as he sets his guitar aside. Well, what the hell is that about? His lady love is merely asking for a few minutes of his time and she _will_ have it.

"What's up, babe?" he asks, giving her his full attention.

She really will have to talk to him about using a proper term of endearment. She's painstakingly narrowed it down to two possible candidates: "delovely" (because how incredibly poetic and _fitting_ and Cole Porter is near and dear to her heart) and "Berry of my eye" (which may eventually catch on in mainstream discourse).

She tries to contain her excitement as she pulls a small, purple package from her backpack, tied with shiny white ribbon. "I have something for you."

**-.-**

He eyes the package warily as she holds it out to him. She's a bundle of energy, humming with enthusiasm.

And judging from the size of the package, he's pretty sure his "present" isn't anything sexual.

Unless there are a pair of nipple clamps in there. Or a cock ring. Or that warming lube that heats up when you blow on it.

Judging by the smile on her face, he should just give up hoping it's something he'll like.

Also judging by the smile on her face, he knows it's probably something he's going to hate.

**-.-**

She scoots next to him on the couch, pressed against his side and she's so happy college didn't pack on extra pounds for either of them because really, a healthy body means a healthy outlook on life and a healthy dose of self-esteem and confidence. She knows she's got it all in spades.

He takes his time pulling the ribbon loose and tearing open the perfectly purple wrapping paper.

Time stands still.

Or Noah does a very good job at freezing when he opens the small, flat box.

She looks expectantly at him. "Well...?"

He doesn't respond. Surely he must be rendered utterly speechless.

The suspense is threatening to suffocate her. "What do you think?" she asks, suddenly anxious.

He blinks slowly at the open box and turns his head to give her a look she can't quite read. He makes sure she can see what's laying inside before opening his mouth. "Babe...are you sure this is for me?"

She rolls her eyes. Leave it to Noah to completely miss the finer points of a perfectly poetic gift. She'll just have to spell it all out for him.

She runs a finger down the smooth edge of the small half moon-shaped hair comb resting inside. "Of course it's for you, darling. I chose it specifically for you. It's made from lacquered cherry wood and this orange blossom detail here is 18 carat gold, which is very fitting because the orange blossom represents eternal love."

The expression on his face still hasn't changed. "It's a comb," he says stupidly.

"Of course it is. Someone told me a touching and poignant story taking place in feudal Japan, where every gesture means more than it seems."

It's obvious he's waiting for her to shine a little golden illumination on the situation.

He mutters something under his breath.

"Don't be silly, Noah. Mike Chang had nothing to do with it. He isn't even Japanese. Neither is Tina. And I think we need to have a conversation about Asian stereotypes."

She thinks she does a phenomenal job ignoring her manchild's eyeroll, and she does pride herself in her self-restraint.

"I'll spare you the savory details because I know you'd only make a disparaging comment about them, but the relevant details involve a man of the time giving a woman he has grown close to a comb. To us, they're just everyday objects, but in those times, everything known about a woman could be deduced from the hairpieces she wore." Rachel licks her lips excitedly. "The gift itself was generous—sort of like a man today giving a woman an expensive necklace—but what it really did was express his inexpressible desire to someday mean something more to her. He was going away but he wanted her to know that when he returned, his desire was to court and eventually marry her."

She pauses long enough to see the wheels turning in his head.

"So...you're going away somewhere?" he asks, a perplexed look on his face.

Silly boy. She smiles and kisses him. "No, darling. I'm not going anywhere. And if I were, I'd gift you with a lock of my hair and a bouquet of forget-me-nots, not a decorative hairpiece." Turning her attention back to the little box, "Traditionally, they're made with ivory or tortoise shell, but as you know, I don't condone poaching. This one I had engraved on the back."

She turns the comb over to reveal the carefully etched words: **ETERNALLY FAITHFULLY YOURS**.

He's curling his lips inward like he wants to say something but doesn't know where to start. She seems to have that effect on people. He finds his voice after a few speechless minutes.

"But babe..." a beat. "...I don't have hair."

She lets out a frustrated sigh. "Noah darling, it isn't _about _hair. It's about the gesture."

"This is one of those symbol things you're always talking about."

"Right." She knew he could be trained.

"...except you're not a Japanese man, I'm not a Japanese woman, these aren't like ancient times, I don't have hair, and what am I supposed to do with a girly _comb_?"

She cups the side of his face with the small, soft palm of her hand. "While I had hoped for a better reaction, I'll just have to accept your lack of taste for the nuanced. I'm telling you I feel very strongly for you and even if circumstance separated us, I'd still feel that way. And I wouldn't be at all opposed to a more serious courtship."

-.-

Wow. He supposes if her idea of subtlety didn't work, she'd just go all in.

One of the upsides of dating Rachel Berry is that you pretty much always know where you stand with her.

Because she tells you every fifteen minutes.

-.-

She sees he's decided to be gracious about her gift. He smiles in that way that makes the planes of his face softer. He kisses the peak of her forehead, thanks her quietly, gathers his things, and heads to his bedroom.

She watches him, a soft, dreamy sigh escaping her lips. He is as much fun to watch going as he is coming.

And he is all hers.

-.-

He's still trying to digest what just happened. He thinks he should win a medal or something for being such a team player, but the only person who would ever give him something for that would be Rachel, and she'd find a way to make it crazy by presenting him with a signed certificate and have confetti and everything.

He doesn't know where to put the damn thing, but he figures somewhere in plain sight because she'll be upset if she thinks he's trying to hide it because he's embarrassed or something.

So he leaves it on top of his dresser, next to his Cool Water and Old Spice and thinks it's kind of cool that the one emasculating item on his dresser is something pretty and expensive and hers.

But it's still a comb.

Seriously.

What the fuck?

* * *

**NOTES**: Um...I suppose let me know if you find this story way too much crazy Rachel Berry and her altered sense of reality. I'll see what I can do, but if that's really the case, you probably will hate this fic. I've got maybe thirty chapters conceptualized and they all contain varying degrees of ridiculous insanity (mostly from Puck's POV since he's the one being put-upon). I'm such a hypocrite because I generally dislike stories like this (where the protagonist can't win), but I get a feeling this kind of stuff is more fun to write than it is to read.


	4. Oh Starry Night

**Until We Say I Do**

"_Oh Starry Night"_

By Leila Winters

Updated: 6.22.10

* * *

It was a clear Friday night. The autumn air was crisp and cool. Noah Puckerman had finished a shift at the shipping warehouse and he and his honey didn't have any impending deadlines for at least three days.

Life was good.

It would have been better if he knew Rachel wasn't going to take advantage of the full moon already making an appearance on this auspicious night, but really, he couldn't afford to be choosy.

He'd come home not to a romantic dinner like he'd expected, but to a large woven basket and Rachel already bundled up in a puffy down pink vest and earmuffs.

"Let's have dinner outside before it's too cold to go out anymore," she'd said.

He'd almost argued it was too cold now, but instead got into the passenger's seat and let her drive wherever she wanted.

She made small talk the entire way: about the weather, about school, about how wonderful it was to get out. They drove outside city limits to a familiar orchard where she stopped and laid out several blankets on the damp grass. He carried the basket out.

She set to work right away, filling glasses of wine, putting a plate of assorted crackers, cheese, and meats out, and serving two covered bowls of some crazy good pasta hot dish. There were chocolate covered strawberries for dessert and a canister of hot chocolate for later. His woman pulled out all the stops.

"Isn't it a beautiful night?" she asked, her face buried in the warmth of his neck after they'd eaten.

"Yep," he replied, thinking he really fucking liked her when she was like this. Totally chill.

She kissed the side of his neck. "We're here, sitting beneath the stars. It's been an utterly romantic night, wouldn't you say?"

He grinned. "All you, babe."

He felt her smile against him and fed her a strawberry. When he found himself feeding her a second one and kissing her wrinkled nose, it dawned on him with awe-inspiring clarity: **HOLY SHIT**. He was amazed at how effortlessly she'd woven her spell over the evening. He totally fell for it. He'd even been mentally kicking himself for leaving the ring behind because everything was so..._perfect_. **HOW** did this woman _do it_?

(Actually, he had a theory that because her dads weren't actually **IN** the room when she was born, the babies got switched and she's not really Rachel Berry but Wanda Maximoff and her real dad is the most badass motherfucker in the universe and she's got powers that fuck with reality because seriously, whenever he's with her, _shit happens_. He can't explain it.)

She was still working her magic, coaxing him into a fog. "There are so many stars in the sky tonight...I can't believe we can see so many even with the moon so bright."

There was something in the tone of her voice that shattered the illusion. "What?" He looked around and above them, almost expecting something or someone to pop out at them. "Yeah, it's a great night to be out and you love stars. I get it."

She was looking at him with a demented smile on her face and he knew he was missing something.

"Noah darling..." _oh shit..._ "how much do you love me **RIGHT NOW**?"

_Think fast, Puckerman. _"A lot. You know that."

"Your communications skills leave much to be desired, but I won't allow that to diminish the pitch perfect tone of the evening. I have something for you." Her smile never broke as she rose and backed up to the car. It was remarkable she was able to keep eye contact the entire way and not misstep and break an ankle. Seriously. Talented and eerily capable.

She rifled through the trunk and pulled out a large, long black case.

"Prepare to be wowed, Noah Puckerman."

She laid the case out and opened it, revealing parts of a large telescope she proceeded to start putting together. "I borrowed it from Daddy," she said with a shrug.

He had sort of accepted that his girlfriend was a huge nerd. Besides being a bookworm, a club whore, a stage diva, and a music acolyte, he supposed he could add astrologer to the list of her notable non-physical traits.

She thrust an envelope into his hands. He would have sworn he heard her whisper "you're gonna be so hot for me" under her breath, but he decided it was the wine with a shake of his head.

He pulled a shiny gold card from the envelope and by moonlight, read, **"YOU'RE A STAR, BABY!"** on the front. When he opened the card, Rachel's neat cursive was behind a folded slip of paper tucked inside:

"_We're gonna live forever. **FAME**!_

_~Hopelessly devoted to you,_

_Rachel"_

This was one of those days he just accepted he was not going to understand her completely.

"Open the letter," she urged, sounding much too eager.

The letter read as follows:

"_**Congratulations Fellow Star Searcher!**_

_We are delighted to inform you your request to name the two adjacent stars **MR 387102** and **MQ 382290** "**Rachel Berry**" and "**Noah Puckerman**" has been **approved**! Enclosed are your certificates. You may view your stars at the coordinates listed below. Thank you for your patronage! See you in the stars!"_

When he lowered the letter, Rachel's face was floating in front of him in suspended rapture. She was seriously on loop like that or something.

"Wait."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. I did."

"Holy shit."

She pulled him toward the telescope. "See those two twinkling diagonally from each other with the top one winking slightly? That one's me."

He didn't say anything.

"Did I take your breath away?" she asked.

He was still staring at the two stars in the telescope's line of sight. "Every damn day," he muttered.

She clapped delightedly and threw her arms around him. "See, darling? We've been canonized. Even after we're gone, we'll live forever in the night sky." She began nuzzling the side of his face. "And I know it'll be forever...it's written in the stars."

**HOLY SHIT**. She was one _**smooth operator**_. If she proposed to **HIM** right now, he would totally say yes.

He had a fucking star named after him. That was badass as fuck.

"That's totally hot," he assured her.

She certainly thought so.

He kissed her hard and laid her down on the blanket, nearly knocking over the telescope in the process. "Oh, baby baby...so hot..."

She squeezed her thighs together and pulled at the collar of her puffy down vest.

Fuck yeah. He was getting laid. And right now. Nothing like a little star power to get his girl all hot for him.

He rubbed her through her jeans until she squirmed. Her hands shot out, captured his between her legs, and _vigorously_ worked against him. She was awesome like this: horny, half-crazed, not thinking about him or anything at all except _feeling good_.

He smirked at her. "Baby...you're gonna leave me behind."

Her head rolled to the side. "Yep," she breathed.

He barked out a laugh. "Greedy."

"I looove being the woman."

It was too cold to get naked, but hell if they weren't going to get their fuck on in that damn orchard.

He freed his hand and went to work popping the button and pulling her pants down to her knees. "You're gonna give me rug burn, woman."

She only licked her lips enticingly.

Hm. Missionary was not going to work, romantic though it was. He pushed her knees to one side and lay behind her. He had one hand spreading her open and the other lifting her thigh as high as it would go when he decided that was not how he wanted to get off. Romantic and sexy as fuck, but...let's face it, spontaneous sex was rarely the tender kind.

When she looked back, she'd be all, _it was the most romantic night EVER_ anyway, no matter how they fucked.

He pushed her onto her knees, ass in the air, just the way he wanted her. He knocked her knees as far apart as they would go, jeans bunched up. Her cheek was against the blanket and each breath came out a soft puff of smoke. He was kissing the side of her neck and getting all _set_ to go, when her hand came up and raked up the back of his scalp.

"_Allegro_," she commanded with a gasp.

Like he'd put her in this position to do her _adagio_. Woman was funny. He threaded his fingers through hers and held them on the blanket next to their faces, flattening his other hand low on the skin of her belly.

"Anything you want, you got it."

He bit back a laugh when she bridged her back up at him. "I love it when you talk music to me, baby."

Oh, he knew. He also knew she only called him _baby_ when she had orgasm on the brain and turned it into her only goal for the next five minutes and no extraneous actions were taken that did not further her towards said goal.

Right on.

She gave a throaty yelp when he started with _allegro, _as requested, and had no qualms whatsoever when the _accelerando_ built to _presto_ and finished at _prestissimo_.

And fuuuuck, what a finish.

They were lying there, pants pulled back up, the corner of a blanket thrown over their legs, staring at the clear night sky above while their heavy panting frosted over in cool plumes of mist.

"That was a magnificent crescendo of sensation," she declared softly.

"Yeah?" It was totally code for mind-blowing orgasm. If he managed to make her lose her mind (fuck yeah, and she did), he totally won.

She smiled up at him with droopy eyelids. "Absolutely."

He was enjoying the victory, post-nut glow and all, when he spotted something streaking across the sky.

What the fuck?

He looked down at her knowing face. "Are you serious?"

She sensed he wasn't talking about the sex. "It just takes a little pre-planning is all, Noah."

They watched the sky become littered with small, silent flares of light, burning tiny streaks across the starry canopy above them.

"It's beautiful," he said. He'd never actually seen a meteor shower before. And he wondered how the fuck she pulled this shit off. Seriously. She couldn't have planned this freak celestial occurrence, could she have?

...could she have?

His girlfriend was Scarlet Witch. There was no other explanation. She had the power to make things happen and put a fucking hex on him.

It was terrifying and sexy at the same time.

She pressed her lips against his ear. "You know what would make this night _perfect_?"

"Ten more orgasms?"

She ran a finger down the center of his chest. "An engagement."

His heartbeat spiked. "Babe, you're just getting caught up in the moment."

She crawled on top of him, letting them touch _everywhere_, kissing him slowly. "No, I'm not," she whispered. "I'm very calculating, Noah. I know what I'm doing."

He sighed dramatically. "You just want me as your sex slave to do with as you please for the rest of your life."

She smiled. "Something like that."

"But baby, you got the milk for free, why bother buying the cow?"

She looked considerably less amused. For a second, it looked like she was going to burst into tears, but she rallied her emotions together, rolled off him, and started packing up the telescope.

Well shit.

He began putting dishes away.

Guess there were some things even Scarlet Witch couldn't do.

_TBC_

* * *

**Note to those of you who are still kids:** DO NOT go paying to name stars as gifts for other people. IT'S A SCAM. These companies do not have the authority to go around naming stars after random people. You are paying to get a fancy slip of paper, sometimes in a fancy frame. A romantic gesture to be sure, but ultimately, meaningless. You might as well print off your own certificate, put it in a cute frame, and TELL them you went and had a star named after them.

A few years ago, there was an instance of a full moon and a visible meteor shower on the same night. It happens!

**Scavenger Hunt!** — _**FAME!**_, Sailor Mars, Olivia Newton-John, Roy Orbison, Elton John, and Sade make cameos in this chapter. Happy hunting!

...the chapters seem to be getting longer and heavier. I'm trying to keep it light-hearted and drabbly, but damn. Emotional continuity wants to keep sneaking in there.


	5. Fireworks: The Big Bang

**NOTES BEFORE WE START: **Wow. I'm sorry. It's been almost a year since I updated this? That's insanity. It feels like it's only been a few months. Part of this was written at the end of June 2010 in preparation for what SHOULD HAVE BEEN a July 4th update. Sentences here and there were added in the months following and the bulk of the latter part of the chapter was written at the end of April 2011. So...um...I guess persistence pays off? You may disagree once you read the chapter since it is different in style and tone than the previous ones. It is also noticeably less wacky. No matter how "serious" this fic gets, I refuse to accept it as a drama. It will never come down to that.

Oh yeah. Also, because all the planning took place during and shortly after Season 1, Matt Rutherford is present (and as of now, there are no plans for Blaine or Sam) and the couplings might seem a tad odd in light of Season 2. That's just how the pieces fell. Thanks for reading.

**Until We Say I Do**

"_Fireworks: The Big Bang"_

By Leila Winters

Updated: 4.26.11

-.-

"Look, Rach, I'm not saying it's wrong to make how you feel known...lord knows with Artie I understand your dilemma with the douche/sweetheart dichotomy and I sympathize—I do—but..." Tina paused in the middle of peeling a potato and exchanged a glance with Mercedes, who was cracking shells off hard-boiled eggs. The mocha diva gave her the "incoming train wreck" look. "...maybe you should stop trying so hard. You can't force him into an engagement."

Rachel sent the cleaver clean through the section of watermelon with a loud, definitive _thwack_. The other women jumped. Punctuated with swift slices of the knife, she made neat little triangles with chilling precision. "I know you mean well..." _**THWACK**_. "...but you don't know Noah like I do." _**THWACK**_. "Subtlety is beyond him." _**THWACK**_. "It's best to be direct."

Mercedes looked to Quinn, obviously out of place in a corner of the kitchen, frosting star-shaped cookies. "Why don't you just ask him then?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Some traditions are worth preserving. And like Scarlett before me, there is nothing as romantic as being swept off your feet by your very own roguish Rhett Butler."

"Rhett left Scarlett."

Rachel glared heatedly at Quinn. On the surface, they were friendly towards one another, but they never quite got over the residual animosity left over from high school where cliques still mattered. So if the occasional barb appeared, everyone else just stayed out of it.

Quinn's lips twitched. "Have you thought maybe Puck's reticence to formally propose might just mean he's not that into you?"

Everything stopped.

"Maybe he's just killing time with you." The blonde didn't look mocking. She looked deadly serious.

Rachel brought the knife down hard. It stuck in the wooden cutting board. "It must be so hard knowing you could have had Noah at any time until he began dating me. Ours is a love that will endure the test of time."

The former...and unfortunately, current cheerleader...rolled her eyes. "For once, I'm not trying to antagonize you."

The starlet threw the chopped bits of watermelon into a bowl with some malice. "I find that very hard to believe. You won. You got Finn. Give it up. It's over. I'm not with Noah as a desperate last-ditch effort to get attention. We are very happy together." Putting on a brave face, she turned to Quinn. "You got the boy. But so did I."

With a trademark Rachel Berry huff, she rinsed her hands and stormed off into her bedroom.

The kitchen was silent for several beats.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Mercedes threw down a peeled egg. "You're supposed to be an adult."

"Rachel Berry doesn't know when to quit. She never did."

Mercedes stepped closer and pointed an accusatory finger. "In case you haven't noticed, this is_ their _apartment and you're only here because you're a friend by association. Without Finn, we wouldn't be putting up with you. How's it feel to be the unpopular girl in the room?"

"I texted Puck," Tina offered.

The blonde tightened her lips and smoothed out her skirt. "I'm just saying it might all be in her head. It wouldn't be the first time." She started moving to the door. "I'll see if the guys need anything."

-.-

"Hey, does this look done to you?" Finn flipped a charred rib on the grill.

"Another twenty seconds and it'll be perfection." Puck doused another tray of meats with sauce and handed them to Finn. "So what do you guys think I should do?"

"About Rachel?" Kurt rubbed another layer of sunscreen onto his arm, keeping his dusty pink knit parasol upright between his shoulder and chin. "Pray. Divine intervention's the only hope you have of stopping Rachel Berry when she sets her mind on something."

Times like these, Kurt really enjoyed exercising his flexible gender identity. Had he not wanted to spy on the boys' conversation regarding the singing Jewess, he would have been in the kitchen trading fashion tips and quaint anecdotes with the ladies. As it was, he joined the strange world of heterosexual males and they didn't bat an eyelash at his presence in the slightest. He said a silent thanks to Tanaka and Schue for forcing him to be "one of the guys" all those years ago when he really just wanted to play with glitter and cut out pictures of Zac Efron from _Teen USA _and _Entertainment Weekly_.

"You could also try getting political and telling her you won't consider ever getting married until her dads are afforded the same rights as the straights. Or you know, whatever you call yourselves."

"Have you thought about being honest with her?" Finn offered. "I thought Rachel was the type to appreciate that kind of thing."

"Honesty? Hell yeah." Puck added two slabs of steak to the metal rack. "But you obviously don't know Rachel very well if you think she wouldn't shove it in my face everyday that I failed to orchestrate a proper romantic gesture for the next milestone of her life." At the resulting blank stares, he hurriedly averted his gaze. "Or some shit like that. Fuck you, cocksuckers." Quickly, "No offense, Kurt."

Kurt fluttered a few fingers in Noah Puckerman's direction in lieu of a dry witticism.

"Sorry, am I missing the gay jokes already? Puckerman started early." A tall, lanky figure approached the boys.

"CHANG!" Noah and Finn chorused together like a frat parody of a _**Cheers**_ entrance.

As they exchanged bro-shakes, Matt Rutherford and two very familiar former McKinley High cheerleaders arrived.

Noah, playing host, greeted them warmly. "Awesome you guys made it out here. How're things back home?"

As though of one unit, the three rolled their eyes and extolled tales of the drudgery of small-town community college. In a word, their bougie existence could be described as "ass."

Puck pulled Matt aside to ask a burning question away from curious ears. "How did you manage to pull THAT off?" he murmured under his breath, eying Brittany and Santana's joined hands with raised eyebrows.

Matt chuckled good-naturedly. "It was actually shockingly easy. I had tickets for P!nk."

"I'm jealous of your dopey ass. That's a first, Rutherford. There ain't going to be a second."

Puck's phone gave a _**Mario Bros. PING!**_, signaling an incoming text message.

**TEXT MESSAGE FROM SCARYAZNGOTH(6)**

_fyi puck – q shot her mouth off at rachel and now shes locked herself in her bedroom_

Dammit. And here he thought he could get away with a quiet evening with friends.

He excused himself to pay a little homage to his lady love and nearly ran into Quinn as she was coming out of the building.

His hands went to her shoulders. "Hey. What the fuck, man? I thought we weren't going to be playing sabotage games after high school."

The blonde beauty rolled her eyes. "Overprotective much? Face it, Puckerman. You're not over me. I just doused her with a little truth, so maybe you'll be off the hook like you've been wanting."

He shoved a warning finger in her face. "When I want your help, I'll goddamn ask for it. Otherwise, stay out of my shit unless you want me having a sit-down with my buddy Finn to air some dirty laundry."

She sneered despite the wary shift in her weight. It was really unfortunate because she was ethereally beautiful if she could just keep the snooty looks off her face. "You'd lose him, too."

"Yeah well..." he gave her arm a little pat. "Guess who's more important? Good seein' ya, Q." Flashing her a smile, he moved past her and into the apartment building whistling.

-.-

Mercedes hurried over to Puck when he arrived.

"She still pouting by herself?" he asked dryly.

Mercedes shoved him towards the bedroom. "You take care of the princess. We'll just bring down some of the food to the boys."

With that, Mercedes and Tina made themselves scarce with armloads of goodies.

This is what his life was reduced to: damage control.

He knocked on the bedroom door that he usually shared with her, except for the all-nighter papers that happened on occasion, in which case, they slept in their own beds. Rachel's idea of maintaining separate living spaces was genius. You can love someone very, very much but still not want to see them every second of every day.

"Hey, babe...everything all right in there? Fabray totally almost spilled juice all over herself and we narrowly missed a total meltdown. You should come outta there and force PDAs down everyone's throat. I'm not super into it, but I'm totally willing to make that sacrifice for you."

There was silence on the other end and Puck was worried for a second that Rachel Berry may have overdramatically drowned out the world with her Bose headphones blasting Streisand and missed his wickedly awesome speech. Just when he was about to knock again, the door opened.

He took one look at her post-crying face and wanted to push Quinn Fabray into the mud to ruin her perfect white dress. His eyebrows knit sternly together. "Now, young lady, what have I said about locked doors in my house?"

The corner of the little Jewess' mouth quirked upwards.

Opening his arms up to her, she willingly went to him and was folded into his embrace. He kissed the top of her funny head.

"Noah..." she started hesitantly. "You don't regret choosing me, do you?"

"When you're doing your 'A History of Musicals' marathons or acting all Rachel Berry crazy, sometimes."

She fixed him with an unamused stare.

"Hey. We've been over this. Not even if she stripped naked and told me she was leaving him would I leave you to be with her. I don't care if Brittany, Santana, and Quinn wanted me to be in a week-long four-way orgy, I'd say no." Squeezing her cheeks between the palms of his hands, he continued, "because my little Jewy diva is all I can handle at the moment."

Pulling his hands from her face, she threw him a pointed look. "You know, Noah...the more I let you speak, the less impressed I am at your overtures."

Clutching her hand, he attempted to lead the way back to sanity. "I should be seen but not heard, loud and clear, babe."

But Rachel Berry was not yet ready to go. She dug her heels in stubbornly, wheeling Noah around to face her.

"Geezus, what is it now, woman?"

"You know she's always been my weak point. She always had everything I wanted."

"Should I be worried?" he asked in all seriousness. They both knew what he was talking about.

She smiled, flattening her hands against his lovely chest. "Of course not. Like you, I found something better. It's just that when I'm around her, I feel like an awkward teenager again—the one with no friends and a gym full of enemies. She knows just the right thing to say to destroy my years of building an immunity to petty high school politics."

He kissed her lightly, their arms going around one another. "Second best is what we excel at."

"Hm..." she said, snuggling into his chest. "Feels nice. What's the situation, by the way? Does everyone know you're here to avert a crisis or do they just assume you're trying to get me with my clothes off?"

Leading her by the hand into the kitchen to finish up snack preparations, he smirked, "It can't be both?"

"Well," she started, "you _are _a notorious multi-tasker."

-.-

The barbeque was surprisingly pleasant. Quinn stayed faithfully by Finn's side or caught up with her former cheerleading cohorts. Artie almost choked on a hotdog after Puck told an inappropriate joke and Finn worried about how to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on a person in a wheelchair. Kurt refused to eat anything a fly or bee had touched and compulsively kept vigil over the food, making sure containers, foil, and saran wrap were secure at all times.

Mike Chang was tearing into another rib when Rachel sat herself down on the bench next to him.

"Oh Michael," she chirped, "when am I going to get you together with a nice, outgoing young lady?"

The man shrugged a shoulder, sucking sauce off a thumb. "I don't mind going Lone Ranger. I don't really need a whole lot to keep me happy."

"The Lone Ranger had a sidekick."

"Oh." Tactfully changing tracks, he steered the conversation away from his relationship status. "So, no progress on the Puck front?"

She buried her face in her hands. "Michael, it's absolute AGONY. I know he loves me. It's just a matter of getting him to admit it and make an honest woman of me."

He let out a loud bark of laughter. "Oh yeah. Maybe that's why you and I would never work out. I forget how _intense _being around you is."

"Not funny!" she cried, poking him sharply in the arm.

"A little bit funny," he quipped. "You know, I'm totally the wrong person to be saying this, but it might not be a bad idea to just lay low for a bit. Give him some breathing room."

"Why?" she eyed him suspiciously. "Do you know something I don't?"

"No, no, not at all. Just um," he coughed, thinking of the ring his friend had dragged him along to buy. "Your expectations of a grand gesture might subconsciously be putting him under a lot of pressure."

"I appreciate the candor because I know it comes from an exceedingly good place, but this is _NOAH_ we're talking about. He's a bit obtuse when it comes to romance. I just want to push him in the right direction."

"Well, just remember," he began, smiling resignedly at the determined starlet. "It's you two. Nobody can make either of you do anything you don't want to."

She gave him a watery smile, touched. She had always liked Mike Chang. Time and again, he had proved himself in possession of a sensitive, kind spirit—one she felt, deserving of a love for the ages. She kissed his cheek warmly.

"You're just too good to be wasted on singlehood. We'll find you someone beautiful to be your Tonto. "

"She better like chili cheese fries."

-.-

They'd cleaned up and snuck everybody onto the roof at sunset with beers, blankets, and bug spray. Dinner had been followed by an ultimate Super Soaker battle. Rachel had specifically told Noah "no water guns" but seemingly out of thin air, Super Soakers materialized and the boys chased each other in their mock war games.

...or Noah, Finn, Matt, Mike, and Santana jumped around hedges, circling trees, while Brittany wheeled a water rifle-toting Artie around, picking opponents off with precision. Kurt was happy not to be "one of the boys" and watched the childish antics with amusement with the other water-averse ladies.

Now they were waiting for the fireworks to begin. Not that the boys hadn't come fully armed with explosives, but that was for later. The able-bodied males teamed up to get Artie and his chair on the rooftop, which caused a bit of alarm for Tina (considering everyone'd been drinking), who watched in fascination and horror. Artie, for his part, was a real trooper, held on for dear life, and felt privileged to have some serious jock friends.

Brittany and Santana huddled against Matt, still a little damp from their water fight. Quinn leaned her pretty head against Finn's side. Tina perched on Artie's lap, feeding him grapes and slapping his hands away from her bra clasps. Mike decided he wasn't a huge fan of heights, so went about ignoring their vantage point of the street below by concentrating on the bag of Fiery Buffalo Doritos he'd brought up. Mercedes and Kurt snuggled under a blanket together to ward off mosquitoes. Plus, it was nice to feel coupled off in a sea of other couples.

Puck wrapped a blanket around Rachel's shoulders and used the ends to pull her closer. He was mostly dry, which Rachel attributed to his body's natural tendency to make like a furnace and heat.

"We did good, babe," he declared proudly. "Totally pulled off a successful barbeque reunion."

Rachel pressed herself against that frontal chest area she loved so very much. "Don't think I've forgiven you yet for barring me from planning events and sing-offs for such an auspicious day."

"Well," he said, making sure she was snug to ward off a mosquito invasion, "next party that's your idea, you get to pull out all the stops you want." He could feel her grinning into his t-shirt.

"You know, Noah...I think I'm booze-addled enough to suggest that next year, we spend the fourth of July just the two of us. That way, we can make love under a spectacular canopy of fireworks overhead. Have I mentioned how much I love fireworks?"

He was a bit distracted thinking about "next year," so he missed the odd tone in her voice. "Probably, but I probably wasn't listening."

"Fireworks are like man's way of trying to be closer to God by creating his or her own star."

They made out a little bit until Mike threw a chip at them to get them to stop. Alcohol just helped the PDAs flow easier.

Rachel was glowing. She looked up at her man, her expression partially hidden by the darkness. "You know, Noah..." (red flag), "I've always found fireworks hold a certain amount of enchantment in the moment. Larger than life, completely uncontained, and full of explosive vibrancy."

As if on cue (it would take some convincing to have him declare that Rachel Berry _wasn't_ a witch), the first bursts of light erupted into the night sky to a chorus of oohs and aahs.

They enjoyed them for a moment.

He should have known.

Whisper-shouting into his ear over the din, she informed him, "The evening was so wonderfully perfect, darling. I can only think of one thing that would make this night even better."

It took him a moment to get her meaning. Then it was like _OH_.

Pink and purple hearts illuminated the night sky, he'd had a couple beers, _what the hell_.

He got down on one knee.

She couldn't believe it. She was sure Grace Kelly would have fainted at the precisely executed romantic gesture. She thought her heart might burst into a spray of rose petals and covered her mouth with her hands in a proper display of shock and delight.

Kurt noticed first and eventually, the assembled party stared in wide-eyed anticipation, the fireworks suddenly a lot less interesting.

"Babe..."

She waited for him to say more.

And then wondered when he was going to produce a ring.

And then wondered why he was taking so long to look at her.

Fiddling with her trainers, he peered up at her, an entirely too innocent look on his face.

"Your shoe was untied."

A beat.

Mike threw another chip at Puck's head. "Asshole."

Everyone went back to studying the fireworks with renewed intense fascination.

Rachel bit back the tears, but her disappointment was written all over her face. Puck felt like a bit of an ass. Getting up and hugging her close, he felt her sniffle.

"You are a delightful diva, getting emotional over fireworks. You must be a train wreck at weddings."

Okay. So maybe he didn't feel _**that **_bad.

She chuckled through the tears. He was really, really, dense sometimes, but even if it drove her crazy, she liked his oblivious side.

_TBC_

-.-

**END NOTE:** Thanks for reading! And yes, I know...this chapter sort of negates the "this is a drabble fic" declarative I made in the beginning of the story. You'll all just have to suffer alongside me as I wade through the sludgy mire of my brain. Happy trails. I'll endeavor to make the next chapter more cracky.


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